You cry out in your sleep, all my failings exposed. And there's a taste in my mouth, as desperation takes hold.

The first week of september is going to be incredible.

I sometimes think things havent turned out the way they should be. Nothing really makes sense I constantly feel like I'm waiting for something or someone and suddenly the whole reason for any of this will be blindingly obvious and I'll shake off the past four months. Do you ever think something's wrong with you? Like everyone else gets something that you don't?

In another few weeks time maybe I'll start writing about clothes and exhibitions and literature and life again.